


Venefica

by Miaschyx



Series: BPS Halloween 2019 [3]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Animal Death, BPS Event, Gen, Halloween 2019, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miaschyx/pseuds/Miaschyx
Summary: But now he sees his folly; they’ve grown superstitious throughout the years, even more so than when he was a reckless teenager. Harmless games have fed their dread of the unknown, of magic, and he must face the consequences.





	Venefica

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for the BPS Halloween event, 2019. I have an AU with witch John in it, and this was the Bad Route, oopsies!

“Huh, so turns out if I leave my blood under the moon, it’ll be more powerful,” he mutters, paraphrasing from the book he read. The witch glances down at the feline in his lap, golden eyes staring back as she purrs. “Bet you’d like that, yeah? Supercharged blood for more power.” Willow lets slip a faint _mrrp_ noise, ears twitching as wood crackles within the fireplace. “Mmm, thought so.”

He reads the small list of required ingredients for a healing remedy and counts the things he has in storage. Failing at remembering, he leans back and scans the shelving on the wall containing the herbs necessary, smiling when he sees them all present. “Nah, yeah, I can do that, easy as shit. Full moon’s in three days, right? I’ll just snag some of its magic, then make a couple vials.” Willow chirrups once again and shifts forward to nip his fingers. The witch moves his hand away with a shake of his head. “Nooo, no, you don’t need my blood, you’re fine, don’t be a greedy hoe.” The noise she releases afterwards is less than amused, but she purrs whilst kneading his thigh, peering around the book’s edges.

The knock to disturb his evening isn’t uncommon, even in the middle of night. Then he hears one of his friends call, “John, I need your help with something!”

Willow bounds from his lap and springs atop the table beside the fireplace, sitting with her tail coiled, staring outside. Furry ears twitch. A cold shiver races through John.

“Hold on!” he responds, closing his grimoire and tucking it under his chair. He stands and moves towards the source of the voice, wondering what the guy needs help with this time; did he get injured again? Or did a wound become infected? Bets on him having trouble sleeping and wanting something to aid his rest.

But when John opens the door, he’s met by a myriad of faces standing behind his guilt-ridden friend.

Before he can ask what they need, one man lunges, grabs him by the bicep, and pushes him up against the wall within his small cottage.

“Wh—Hey!” John scrambles to remove him, yanking his hand off, only for two more people to pin him against the wall. Rope comes into view as they hold his arms together, abrasive material winding around his wrists. A pained grunt slips out as he twists and tries to slam his elbow into the lady on his left, only to fail and stumble. John ends up pinned on his side, shoulder thumping with pain. “Dude, get away from me—Shit!”

Willow requires no compulsion to launch at the guy tying him up, yowling a storm and sinking her claws into the man’s neck. A yelp tears from his lungs.

“Get this fuckin’ thing off me!” a grizzled voice hollers.

John ignores him, grateful for his familiar as he thrashes and scrambles to freedom. His brain is halfway through the thought of how he’ll reward her—some catmint along with fresh-caught fish—when he sees the steel blade join the fray.

“No!”

A phantom pain flares within his chest as screeching fills the air. Her body goes flying, slamming against the wall, breaking shelves. Glasses shatter against the flags. Their connection cuts off with a spiritual _snap_ as Willow hits the floor along with his box collection of rose quartz and obsidian. A hollowness swells inside John, a piece of him severed, and he stumbles, grasping for his table, gasping.

He doesn’t have the chance to grieve before the townsfolk grab him again, throwing him hard enough that his elbows bleed and head smacks against the flagstone. Shock surges forth, struggling with the lack of a second heartbeat within his mind, the inability to sense his familiar’s presence. It’s been so long since he’s felt as alone as this, as disconnected, even with hands grabbing at patchy clothes and winding a rope around his wrists.

When they attempt to tie his ankles, his fighting instincts return. He kicks, lashes out, and curses up a storm, swallowing the spells trying to bubble within his throat. “I swear, you’re gonna fuckin’ regret this!”

Dark magic is a last resort—a ruined soul leads to eternal damnation—but his options become limited as he’s dragged off in the middle of the night.

John’s struggles are a mild inconvenience as they yank him from safety, away from his home and everything he knows. Although a witch, he not once injured or killed anyone, never. He has always brought innocents back from the brink of death; from a woman bleeding after the late birth of her child to a boy who lost his leg to a feral monster he stumbled upon in the woods. There’s no harm in the occasional prank—making someone’s roses turn bright blue or causing the well water to become milk. It’s all in good fun. John finds joy in the townsfolk’s reactions.

But now he sees his folly; they’ve grown superstitious throughout the years, even more so than when he was a reckless teenager. Harmless games have fed their dread of the unknown, of magic, and he must face the consequences.

Wild eyes glance at the surrounding people, staring at shadowed visages twisted with fear and disgust. He growls, realizing his words fall upon deaf ears.

So, instead, he bites his tongue until iron floods his mouth. Pain shakes his limbs. John hates that he’s resorting to ruining his soul to escape. He twists his body until he can face the guy holding him by the shoulders and spits into his eyes. Almost forgotten enchanted incantations spill forth, low and dark.

The man screams and clutches at his face, steam rising from boiling skin. John falls to the ground, everyone yelling and rushing to help the guy. Blood seeps from John’s lips as he scrambles to his feet, yanking at the rope wrapped around his ankles. A woman tackles him, refusing to let the witch escape. Although John hates it, despises using dark magic, knows it will taint his soul, it surges within him.

When she looks at his face, all she sees is a nest of snakes for hair and gaunt facial features snarling at her with hellfire eyes. Her bravery vanishes. She screams and falls backwards, releasing her hold. John removes the rope from his legs and takes off running, the urge to escape, to flee overriding his brain.

He doesn’t get far before searing pain spears through his shoulder, stunning enough that he stumbles and trips over the root of a nearby oak tree. The ground slams into him as a shout leaves his throat, body burning as he grabs the arrow plunged halfway through his chest, shaking. Okay, okay, shit, okay, if he… gets up and keeps going, he can fix this, he can treat this, easy. He’s fixed worse injuries than this.

John doesn’t get the chance to run again, yelping as gruff hands grab him by the hair and forearm. They drag him downhill, over the wet grass, and towards the lake.

_Oh no._

John’s stomach twists and he struggles to escape once more, grunting from searing pain within his flesh. They’re gonna swim him. He wants to scream, tell them that’s not how it works, lakes won’t prove if he’s a witch or not.

So close and yet so far. If only they’d learned how to assess an _actual_ evil witch.

Maybe his mother would still be alive.

And now he’ll die how she died.

Where she died.

It’s poetic.

It’s fucking stupid.

John snarls and attempts to tap into his dark magic again, hoping there was a ghost or ghoul nearby he could use to his advantage. He senses nothing. Hatred and pain radiates from the half-dozen surrounding angry people, holding him by the wrists, hair, legs, feet. No matter how much he wiggles, their grip never falters. Rope tightens around his ankles again, binding them together before they twist his arms down to join, bending him forward.

“Let me GO!” he shouts, attempting to headbutt the man to his right and failing when he side-steps the attack.

Footsteps splash in shallow water.

A shiver runs up John’s spine.

They heave and ho before flinging him over the lake.

There’s a moment of brief weightlessness before he drops.

Icy cold envelopes him, plunging him deeper under the surface.

He knew this was how it would happen, foresaw he would die within chilly waters.

The world grows muted, muffled, subdued.

Scrying one’s death in a mirror never goes well, but John was never a very smart person.

The panic lessens now that people aren’t pinning him.

He’s glad Willow didn’t suffer like he will.

John’s wrists chafe from how hard he tugs at the rope.

The arrow within his shoulder is less like torture, a dull, irritating throb.

Desperation swells when he realizes he can’t escape, tossing his head.

He’s sinking, how ironic.

A bubble escapes his lips before he can stop it.

The second time they swim a true witch and he sinks, branding him innocent when he is far from it.

John scrunches his eyes shut, struggling to hold his breath.

He’s not the praying type, knows old gods don’t listen without a sacrifice.

Air rushes from his nose in a hurry, desperate to breathe.

John figures drowning is less painful than burning alive, grateful for sinking.

Water fills his lungs, tearing a silent scream from his mouth.

His body burns whilst he freezes within.

In the water, he can’t tell if he’s crying or not.

Everything fades away; the half-formed moon in the sky, the silhouettes of angry people, the agony of drowning.

John hopes his soul isn’t too dark, that the Devil can’t take it, that he did enough good to outweigh the bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
